Page 72 of The Unknown Birds

Rook paused before answering, steeling himself and choosing his words carefully. “Nothing really. Usually I’d sing with the choir or play the organ for the service. Nearly always someone invites me round to tea. Suppose my tradition is sharing other people’s.”

Ash felt a certain sort of way about those words. Rook hadn’t chosen to be orphaned and without a family, and she was glad there were people in his life to fill in. She wondered where her brother was, if he was living, and whether he would spend his day alone longing for chestnuts and Dickens and home.

They moved into the forward line the night before Christmas Eve and spent the whole next day bombarding the Germans with a savagery usually reserved for the lead up to a push. A retaliatory shell landed very near where they were lining up for evening rations, and everyone ducked and lurched like a ship being tossed upon the sea.

“Come on Fritz! Don’t bother to knock,” one of the more recent recruits yelled across No Man’s Land.

“Can’t we even stop for Christmas?” Ash moaned to no one in particular.

“It isn’t Christmas,” their new Lieutenant Hawkins sneered. “Not for you. It’s just another day. There’ll be no fraternizing with the enemy this year.”

Ashley snorted thinking how strange it was that in churches around the world they would light candles and line the pews singing of peace on earth while here she was forbidden the very notion. The lieutenant glared at her, and a flash of insubordination flared up in her Bob Cratchit heart. “Is this really how the Lord would choose to spend his birthday?”

“Tread lightly, Private.”

“Of course, sir. I’m no theologian, I only wondered.”

But further down the line, she could see Captain Davies, a half smirk playing across his lips. Whether he agreed or merely enjoyed seeing Lieutenant Hawkins ruffled, Ash was glad to know the Old Man was on her side. It made it easier to hold her tongue somehow.

The mortars kept firing, even as the sun went down. Tom and Ash rested against the trench wall to watch them explode, red and gold beneath a smoky sky. It all might be pretty under different circumstances.

“I suppose the lieutenant’s right, in a way. Christmas doesn’t really belong here with the mud and the muck and the merciless.”

“Careful, Ash,” Tom told her. “You’re starting to sound like some kind of poet.”

From his nearby post with Merle, Rook glanced her way and winked. She didn’t feel the cold much after that.

Finally, as the hour ticked towards midnight, the barrage began to slow and with it, Rook’s constant rat-a-tat-tatting counterfire.

“Artillery or no, our orders are to fire,” Lieutenant Hawkins shouted.

“Rook?” Captain Davies asked.

“Sir?”

“Why’ve you stopped shooting?”

“Ammunition’s low, Cap.”

“Oh, I see. Best save it then. In case we need it later,” the captain replied.

“Aye, sir,” Rook said, nudging a full box of cartridges out of sight with his toe, while the lieutenant scowled and stormed away.

“Keep an eye on that one, Cap,” Sergeant Major Chapman murmured, watching Hawkins disappear on down the trench. “Sure as eggs, he’s after your bloody job.”

They shared a look and continued on their way, Captain Davies pausing to pat first Rook and then Merle on the shoulder as he passed.

With no one shooting, the world fell completely silent.

Then somewhere along the line, a man began to sing in hushed, lilting Gaelic, and Ash thought she’d never heard a lovelier hymn. Tears sprang to her eyes, and chills raced down her arms as she was reminded of a gentler place and time.

He switched to English for the second verse, and more soldiers followed suit. Even Rook set down his rifle and raised his tenor voice to the sky as a Scottish regiment picked up the tune on pipes. Galvanized by the sniper, Tom glanced from Ash to Rook before joining in the chorus too.

The moment was haunting and sacred.

When it ended, in the flicker of a cigarette, Ash could just make out Rook’s stubbled cheek, now damp with tears. And for some reason, his tears were her undoing. He was the toughest man she knew, but here and now he was one more lonely choirboy far from home.

Soon after, another voice rang out, soft and far away. “Still, still, still, weil’s Kindlein schlafen will.”